Enter Frisco.
Wal. How now, sirrah, whither are you going?
Fris. Whither am I going? how shall I tell you, when I do not know myself, nor understand myself?
Heigh. What dost thou mean by that?
Fris. Marry, sir, I am seeking a needle in a bottle of hay; a monster in the likeness of a man: one that, instead of good morrow, asketh what porridge you have to dinner? parley-vous. signior? one that never washes his fingers, but licks them clean with kisses; a clipper of the king's English; and, to conclude, an eternal enemy to all good language.
Har. What's this? what's this?
Fris. Do not you smell me? Well, I perceive that wit doth not always dwell in a satin-doublet. Why, 'tis a Frenchman: Basi mon cue, how do you?
Har. I thank you, sir: but tell me what wouldst thou do with a Frenchman?
Fris. Nay, faith, I would do nothing with him, unless I set him to teach parrots to speak. Marry, the old ass, my master, would have him to teach his daughters, though I trust the whole world sees that there be such in his house that can serve his daughters' turn as well as the proudest Frenchman. But if you be good lads, tell me where I may find such a man?
Heigh. We will. Go hie thee straight to Paul's, There shalt thou find one fitting thy desire: Thou soon may'st know him, for his beard is black, And such his raiment[491]: if thou runn'st apace, Thou canst not miss him, Frisco.